


Jameson Neat

by 217



Category: The Walking Dead (Comics), The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Age Difference, Alpha Negan (Walking Dead), Alternate Universe, Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Brooding Negan, Coach Negan (Walking Dead), Eventual Smut, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Jealous Negan (Walking Dead), Negan (Walking Dead) Being an Asshole, Negan's bad mood, Negan's filthy mouth, Oral Sex, Possessive Negan (Walking Dead), Protective Negan (Walking Dead), Rough Oral Sex, Rough Sex, Shower Sex, Stalking, The OC is just trying to get it in, Walking Dead: Here's Negan, comic negan - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-19
Updated: 2018-07-24
Packaged: 2019-05-25 06:17:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 21,658
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14970875
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/217/pseuds/217
Summary: Two years after the loss of Lucille, Negan delves further down to the point of no return. This story has several parallels of the show / comic, but it’s not set in the outbreak. A/U Negan x OC





	1. Chapter 1

**A/N This actually started off as a goofy smut one-shot about Negan's love for pumpkin pie, but I went off the deep end. Told from the OC's POV.** **Part one of six.**

* * *

God, I hate this job. This minimum wage nonsense that I'm way overqualified for, yet I'm too complacent to go anywhere else. I wipe my hands down the front of my apron. Flour and frosting everywhere.

"Did you really make a pumpkin pie?" My boss shakes the sugary dish at me.

I stare back at her because she can't be that stupid. Pumpkin pie is universally recognizable.

"It's June! No one eats pumpkin pie in June. This is coming out of your paycheck. Waste of ingredients."

Who gets this upset over pie? It's delicious. Jesus. Hmm, I wonder if I set my DVR to record—

"Are you listening to me? Put this shit in the case!" She shoves it into my filthy apron.

That's hardly sanitary. After I'm left unattended, I immaturely write 'shit' on the little card and set it in front of the pie in the display case.

I hear a deep snicker above the case.

My head comes out from inside it as my eyes move up higher, higher, higher. How did this guy even fit in the front door? He's built like a tank and as tall as one, too. Military equipment aside, my cheeks redden because I've never seen a man that looks this good. Even despite his age.

"Slice of pie." His thick finger pushes against the glass.

That is one of my biggest annoyances working here. Usually the cause of unattended children. It furthers my annoyance when it's adults. Now him? I don't care. Actually, I've got a better use for that finger. "Four sixty-nine, sir."

He hands me a five. "Keep the change."

It's a tip that would be insulting, but I'm not thinking about anything other than him putting me against the glass— oh crap. His pie. "H— here, sir." Nothing about me screams put me into, well, anything. I'm just your average girl. Covered in aisle five baking goods. My long blonde hair trapped in this netted oppression on the top of my head.

I watch pie man for a brief moment as he reads the paper, his lip turned up at everything except for when it settles after each bite. I wish my boss could see this.

In a desperate attempt, I take the rag over to the table near the brute and start to wipe it down. A little bad porn production as I bend over the table and make my ass as noticeable as possible. Oh, god. What am I doing?

"You missed a spot. Like you sat in shit."

I am mortified because I was certain I didn't spill any of that coffee in the subway seat this morning. I hate people. That means I've been here for five hours with stained jeans and no one has said a thing! "Occupational hazard," I joke, uncertain where this confidence is coming from.

"Probably should have tipped more for a new pair of jeans."

You can tip me over this table. I slam my eyes shut and go back behind the counter to survey the damage to my denim.  _Tip me over the table_ … then I wonder why I'm single.

I feel foolish trying to seduce a man that could easily have any woman he wants, so I stay behind the register until I'm alone. As I drum my fingers against the counter, I notice money on his vacant table. Oh. Twenty dollars? That's generous.

Every day for the next week, he comes in here at the exact time for pie. Only pumpkin, though. Which I have to sneak to make it. But as the days pass, so do missed opportunities to talk to him.

He never speaks now that I know his order. Truthfully, he looks sad.

"Do you want some coffee?" It's not my job to wait on people, but I have to try some attempt at flirting.

He shakes his head side to side, his eyes focused on the baseball game on TV.

Good job with that. God, I'm a loser.

He points at the TV.

I turn to look at it and notice Angelina Jolie in a commercial. Everyone always makes the comment that I've got her mouth, well, her lips. I've seen this movie a million times they're advertising a rerun for. When I turn around, I imitate her sultry look for a minute.

It makes him laugh, well, sorta. It's never audible. Just some silent chuckle. Score one for me. Yes. I hurry back around the counter before I do something embarrassing and ruin the moment.

Despite yesterday, things fall stale today. I catch his gaze my way, but I just think it happens to be one of those things where two people randomly look up at the same time.

After I lock up, I go to the market to get a few things. They're out of my shampoo. I really don't want to go to that massive store out of the way from my usual route. Oh, wait. There's some overflow stock on the top shelf. I stick my tongue out of the corner of my mouth for super stretch abilities, but it's pointless when you're short.

A worn leather sleeve reaches over me and retrieves the box.

I start to thank him, but notice it's the bakery pie man so naturally words have evaded me.

He even opens the box for me to get a bottle out.

Hmm, he doesn't have a basket to cart things around in.

As he puts the bottle in my basket, he notices the can of pumpkin pie filling. Like he knows I have to sneak it. "Thank you for the shampoo."

He doesn't bother with putting the box back on the top shelf, it just gets shoved in randomly as it messes up the shelf.

I'm oddly turned on by his disregard for faced goods. Or maybe it's the leather jacket. No, it's just him. It's a good thing I'm buying shampoo, and not batteries for my vibrator. God, I'd never be able to serve him again. I get this weird feeling from him like we could just stand here in this same spot and he'd be perfectly content with it. Guess it's no surprise then I'm the one that says goodnight first. I have a permanent smile as I finish picking up the rest of my groceries. I actually see him again as I'm checking out, but he just walks out the front door empty-handed. I've got to think of something to say to him...

* * *

The problem is, I don't even know what to say to a man twentyish years older than I am. When I set down his pie, I realize just how foolish this all is when I catch a glimpse of his wedding ring. I return to my slump in the chair by the register, because I can't be bothered with standing, and sulk knowing he's married. Which is stupid considering I didn't stand a chance.

On the train ride home, I like to think about him. Which makes me feel even more disgusted with myself now that I know he's going home to his wife.

"Is this seat taken?"

I shake my head no, but come on! There are twenty other places to sit.

Still, the guy my age has a seat. "I'm Bill."

I'm not interested. How could anyone compare with my bakery man? Not this guy, that's for sure. And Bill is persistent.

Bill even comes into the bakery which kinda freaks me out. "Do you want to have dinner sometime?"

"I can't."

"I didn't even give you a time. Come on, don't be like that. You haven't even told me your name."

"She ain't fucking interested, fuckwit," a voice snaps from the corner of the bakery. My pie man rises to his full height from the chair. One long dominating stride towards Bill.

"Sorry," Bill mutters embarrassed, hurrying from the bakery.

"Thank you," I smile at my Savior.

He grunts and turns back for his table. "Next time, don't lead the poor fuck on. He asks to have a seat next to you, spare him the trouble."

I just want to die right now. I'm mortified. How does he know about the subway? Well, duh. He obviously rides it. Have I been that oblivious to my surroundings? I wasn't trying to lead anyone on. Well, that's not true. I did bend over a table for this man. I've never wanted to go home more than I do right now and that speaks volumes because I hate this place. In fact, I rip my apron off and flee from it.

* * *

Later that week, I get a job at the coffee shop. I've basically traded one soiled apron for another. I never realized how good I had it at the bakery. They keep me hidden in the back. Guess I'm too hideous for this trendy place to be seen at the register.

As I put up the sign for the pumpkin spice latte, it makes me think of him. Christ, months have passed since that day in the bakery, but I still think about him. My cell phone rings. It's my sister. I'll get it later. Only, it rings six more times. "I'm at wor—"

"Daddy was in an accident…"

* * *

We bury my father on the day of the first snow. I don't feel anything except for my sibling who lost her father because he was too drunk to be driving. I leave as they lower the casket into the ground and walk towards the entrance. That's when I notice a man knelt down in front of a grave.

_Lucille_.

_Beloved wife._

He rises and startles me.

Oh, god. My bakery pie man.

His worn eyes look me over, then the direction I came.

I hurry past him, trying to loosen my scarf to breathe only it's not what's choking me. It's the guilt from my stupid crush and wishing he didn't have a wife so we could act on desire. Now I find out she's been gone for almost two years by the date on the headstone. I'm a jerk.

My sister will expect me for dinner, but I get on the train home instead. I don't want to hear people talk about my father in the past tense. Especially, singing his praises. He was a degenerate who spent our rent money on whores after my mother died. I stare out the window as concrete speeds by with a heavy sigh.

"Is this seat taken?"

"Yes." Jesus, not now. This is the last thing I need.

He has a seat next to me anyway. His frame is so large, his shoulder rubs against mine when he sits. "Good girl."

That's when I realize it's the bakery man. Well, that and his voice.

"You look even more miserable at the coffee shop than you did the bakery."

He has my attention now. "I didn't know you knew I worked at the coffee shop."

"You're shit at being aware of your surroundings."

I guess I am. Maybe I've just been in this funk for the last few months. "Why do you keep following me?" It's funny how I found this creepy with Bill, but it's flattering with him.

He grunts as his eyes shift to the window. "I don't know. I've never done anything like this. Truthfully, I could lose my fucking job over this shit. I'm sorry."

I wonder if he's a police officer? "Will you tell me your name at least?"

"Negan. Yours?"

Oddly, it makes me feel better that he doesn't know my name. Like he's been lurking in the shadows only because he has my best interest, not digging through my mail or anything crazy. "I'm Jameson."

"What? Isn't that usually a last name?"

"My father was too drunk to fill out my birth certificate and mixed up my first and last name."

"So I take it you weren't too choked up about today."

My face goes dark. "I don't think about him at all. I went to support my sister."

"Shouldn't you be with her now?"

"She's got like sixty-eight thousand friends on Facebook. They'll be at the house tonight, so I'd just be in the way—"

"This is my stop."

"Alright. Goodnight, Negan." It's nice to have a name other than pie man.

"You feel like baking?"

I hate baking. "Sure."

As I walk behind him, I hold my head higher than I ever have before. It's this delusion that we're more than what we are. That he'd be proud to call me his own, but I feel like he needs to know I'm not even close to him in age. "Negan, I don't turn twenty-one for two more months."

"I'm not buying you alcohol. They tend to frown on coaches doing that shit."

"I don't drink… because of my father. Anyway, I just felt like you should know. Because you're, well, older. Uh, much older."

His brow knits. "That kinda thing bother you?"

"No."

"Well, come on then. And forty-two isn't  _that_  old," he mumbles.

The conversation ceases entirely after that. I wish I never would have opened my trap.

Walking down the street, I feel like some escort he's rented. Especially in this dress, expensive coat, and heels, which make it a struggle to keep up with his long legs. The little clicks from my heels against the sidewalk annoy even me.

After he has to stop for the third time so I can catch up, he walks over to one of the many street vendors. When he returns, hanging on his fingers are a pair of flats. The brute gets to one knee.

I steady myself on his broad muscular shoulder as he trades each one out. "Thank you." My heels in his hand look like miniature novelties.

Every woman that passed us gave him and the heels a glance over, then I'm given a jealous glare. Needless to say, I don't feel like an escort anymore. We arrive at this hole in the wall Chinese restaurant. "I'm not really all that hungry."

He shifts uncomfortably, then starts up the ladder beside the building.

Oh, I understand now. He lives in the loft above it.

"I did the cul-de-sac white picket fence bullshit in suburbia, but after she died, I had to get the fuck away. I wanted something as grimy as I felt inside."

I can deal with grimy. I grew up that way. But  **this**? This is just depressing.

All the windows are covered in decrepit newspaper, so brittle, if you touch the paper, it'd break away.

Several mildewed buckets catch water from melted snow on the compromised roof caked in black mold. Oh, look at that. I think those are termites.

Nothing in the loft had privacy. Not even the bathroom. Just a dirty toilet with the lid up, and a hole in the floor for a drain that makes up the shower.

There's a bare mattress on the floor. A pillow with no case. No blanket, either. Guess you wouldn't want to snag it on any of the rusted coils poking from the mattress.

I leave my flats on he bought because there's no carpet. Just dusty stained concrete. I haven't seen his kitchen, but I'm sure he doesn't own any of the things I'd need to bake.

"Have a seat." He gestures his hand to the oversized black leather couch.

Hmm, the condition of this couch isn't bad at all.

He clicks on the TV.

Yes.  _Clicks_. The set is so old, it has these knobs instead of a remote. It's not even in color.

Negan takes a seat beside me. "I didn't ask you here to bake."

"I figured."

"It wasn't to fuck, either."

I didn't expect that, and I'm pretty disappointed now.

"After her, I can't... get it... up."

"Is it because you'd feel guilty being with someone that isn't her?"

"You know, most people would ask how she died."

"Oh," I frown. "I just figured it's none of my business."

"You're right. It isn't any of your business. It's nobody's goddamn business. Yet, people are constantly asking me. Or they're telling me how fucking sorry they are that I'll never see my dead wife again." He cracks some of his knuckles by making a fist. "Would I feel guilty if I emptied inside you? Maybe. Probably not. It's because I don't ever want to get close to someone again. If you don't fuck, you don't feel. Yet, here we motherfucking are. I haven't even been inside you. I don't fucking know you. But I think about you. Yeah, I think about you a lot. It makes the days a little more bearable."

I'm speechless.

"Why'd you quit the bakery?"

"Because I didn't know how to get your attention. And when you snapped at me for that guy, I felt like a fool. Like you weren't interested."

"You got my attention, alright. You had it the moment I laughed at your smartass sign. Maybe it wasn't an audible laugh, but it was something other than complete apathy. I would have hit your boss if she was a man for the way she spoke to you. Fucking bitch. That's ok, I fucked that one fuck up. Bobby."

"Bill."

"Yeah. Fuck that motherfucker. Little fucking prick."

I didn't even realize Negan had been standing there when my boss yelled at me for that pie. Apparently, there's a lot that went unnoticed. Especially if he went back for Bobby and let him have it. Wait, Bill. Whatever! "I don't think coaches are supposed to do that either."

"Maybe I'm not that good at my job. Where's your head at in all this? You freaked out? Think I'm some stalker? After you leave here, will I spend another two months tracking you down? That ain't really what I meant..."

"I just wish we would have talked sooner. You are always in my thoughts, too."

"Probably best we didn't. I'm not the most charismatic fuck after everything. I used to be. Woulda fucked you bent over that table at the bakery like you were if I had some former resemblance of myself."

"That really would have pissed my boss off..."

He starts to laugh.

I turn to witness something this man just told me he's been incapable of. What a shame because the expression looks good on him.

Negan digs in his pocket and takes out his wallet. Three hundred is removed from it and set on my thigh. "Just... fucking stay with me tonight. It's her two year anniversary and I don't want to be alone."

"Why are you paying me?"

"It makes it feel more like a business deal. Less emotion in it. Fuck, I don't know. Would you really stay with this broken old man if I didn't?"

"Yes."

He scoops the money up and stuffs it back in his wallet. "You're a shitty liar."

"You don't know anything about me." I yank the cash back out of his wallet. "Now that you've insulted me, I'm taking it as compensation." I'm hardly insulted.

This is how Negan and I started this bizarre friendship.

When I stay over that night, he makes me sleep on the couch. I don't sleep because I end up watching how disturbed he is. He wakes up constantly. Once to puke even. His nightmares are hellish even for me because he whimpers in them and this man is anything but vulnerable. When he gets up with the sun, he's even more exhausted looking than when he went to sleep.

"Thanks, Jameson."

I give him his money back and slip out quietly so we can start our day.

* * *

For the first month, no personal questions. Mostly, we just sit in silence when I come over and watch this basic TV crap.

On the way from dinner one night, he stops outside of a cellular phone store. Negan often calls me on the payphone two blocks down from his house. That is until the payphone booth is taken out by a dump truck. He turns his lip up at most of the phones because he doesn't understand them.

I find a more basic model to show him.

He likes that and nods.

I text him, but he never texts back. He says it's stupid, but I know it's because he doesn't know how.

* * *

Today, we both skipped work and went to the aquarium.

"That motherfucker is big." His eyes follow after the whale shark.

His foul-mouthed I don't care what anyone thinks attitude always makes me laugh.

The guy at the aquarium gives me a wink before holding a penguin up to me.

Negan grunts, resting his hand on my nape. He never touches me unless it's moments like these where he needs to assert his dominance.

I don't mind it. I wouldn't mind more.

As we leave the place with the penguins, his hand is removed.

I always... want more. "Are you ok? Don't be jealous."

He scoffs and rolls his eyes.

"Are you?"

"Am I fucking what?"

"Ok?"

He looks like he's wanted to say something all day. "I have a game Saturday. Are you working?"

It means a lot that he would want me at his side considering the last person who was probably there was her. "No," I smile.

"You need to come then."

I laugh at his awkwardness because he never asks. It's always how I  _need_  to do something, but I think it's because he never wants to say how much it would mean to him. "Alright."

Negan waves us down a cab. My plush oversized whale shark tucked under his other arm as a bag of pink cotton candy hangs loosely on his fingers.

"Do I still make you laugh sometimes under your breath?"

"I don't know. Maybe. Happy Birthday, Jameson."

I didn't think he remembered.

He gets the door of the cab for me before sliding in.

"Where to?"

Negan gives the cab driver his address.

I tilt my head to rest against his bicep. It's not until he's laying me down on his couch that I realize I fell asleep.

He sits on the edge of it. "Yes." The whale shark is handed over.

"Yes, what?"

"You still make me laugh. More than just under my breath." Negan surprisingly moves up behind me. He's never shown me any kind of affection.

I close my eyes because I've never enjoyed anything so much. His large hand rests on my hip causing my stomach to jump. "Negan?"

"Hmm?" He's half asleep.

"I love you."


	2. Chapter 2

When I wake, I'm cold. I'm certain I dreamt last night until I see the whale shark in my arms. I feel stupid telling him I loved him. His response?

Nothing.

I'm scared I've messed everything up. Where did he even go? I poke my head up over the couch to see him showering.

His back is to me as his hands are pressed to the wall like he's lost in thought.

I take mental note of his strong muscular physique. The wide plains of his tense back. I flush at his rear. There's not much to it, but it's firm. When he turns around, I duck. Oh, god. I slowly move my head up again and freeze. My eyes widen as I watch him run his soapy hand down himself and back up again to get clean. Not that I have much to go by, but it's a shame that muscle is just for show. I return back to the couch because I'm starting to feel gross watching him.

It takes him a few minutes to finish his routine, then I feel the couch move. "You need to start your day."

"Sorry, I was comfortable." Negan doesn't mention my idiot confession last night. I don't know if that's a good or bad thing. However, he doesn't act any different around me. "When's your birthday?"

"Not for a while. Up. Now. I'm going to be late for work."

I missed my stop on the subway. Instead, I just ride around all day lost in thought. Mostly because I know that I am foolish for having feelings for a man who is still in so much grief over his wife. Either I need to walk away from this or realize this is as good as it will ever get.

* * *

Over the next few months, I do really well at suppressing my feelings for him. Until someone asks relationship type questions about us. His answer always stays the same.

_No, we're not together._

Mine? Well, I'd like more. I  **want**  more with him.

No one understands us. Hell, not even me.

* * *

I sniff up my nose, wiping my tears away before I knock on Negan's door. I'm just having a hard time today with all of this. Not being able to call him mine. Not being able to act on more. Yet, I stupidly run to him for comfort.

Negan grunts and sets his hand on the door frame. "What?"

"I just wanted to see if you were awake—"

"You know that ain't what I fucking mean. What as in what is fucking wrong?"

"Nothing."

"Right. A woman that's fine. Look, I asked, you want to play games. Deal with it yourself." He walks away from the door.

"Maybe it's none of your business."

He stops, his boots rooted in place. Then comes the glare as he snaps me a look over his shoulder. "The  **fuck**  did you just say to me?"

I roll my eyes and smack the door closed behind me. "Make me some tea," I demand, walking past him. Yeah, he's a grouch, but I'm no picnic myself. I click his TV to channel 5. Unsolved Mysteries is on.

"You know I hate that murder alien shit," he barks from the kitchen.

"I know," I smile.

"Are you going to be a bitch this entire time?"

"I haven't decided. Are you going to take everything like one?"

That gets him, and he gives me a breathed laugh. "I went by the market and got you that tin canned loose bitch Lady Grey fuckery you like. I bought the whole shelf because she said they weren't getting a shipment in for a while."

A while only means two weeks, but I love when he does things like this for me. He's observant to the little things. "It's loose leaf," I laugh. Which took several ruined mugs to show him how to actually make it.

He sits down with a huff and hands me the campfire mug of tea. "It's a goddamn mess is what it is." There's some black tea on his forearm still.

"Did you wash this mug?" I inspect it over just to irritate him.

"Fuck. You. Can we watch something else?"

"Alright." Which means we're watching that zombie show he likes to complain about. I can't ever remember what it's called, but Negan always goes on to say how he'd do things so much differently, and how the lead character is a prick.

Negan folds his arms across his chest and watches with his usual scowl. "Why do they use guns on the dead? You save the guns for the living. And who the fuck is Prick talking to on that goddamn phone? How did he become the leader? He can't even get his family under control. They need that Shane fuck back since Daryl grew a vagina. Pull your panties up, fortify something with walls, and shut the fuck up because there ain't no fucking cure."

I have no idea what he's babbling about. Boring doesn't even begin to describe this. What a dumb show. And why  **is** that guy on the phone? "Do you want to make out?"

"No. You need to drink your tea before I have to listen to you bitch and moan that it's cold."

"I'll just make you warm it up."

"I know you will so drink."

"You're just trying to shut me up. You could do that if we made out."

He sighs and lowers his arms as his head bows.

I move close to him and run my fingers down his nape. "I'm sorry, I was just joking."

"Why do you make me feel like shit all the time because I don't want to fuck you? I was honest with you. I fucking told you from the beginning." He shifts on the couch to get away from my touch. "Don't coddle me. I hate that shit."

"You hate everything," I snap, getting up from the couch. I drop the mug in his toilet before I slam the front door behind me.

* * *

I'm lost in thought as I ride the sea dragon around the carousel. I've already racked up almost forty dollars on this ride. Money that I don't have. I turn my head away when I see a blur of Negan. Crap, he found me.

"Jameson," he shouts.

I feel bad because he has told me where he stands on us. And I just keep making him feel guilty that he doesn't want more.

When the ride stops, Negan gets on.

"How did you know I'd be here?"

"Where else do you go when you're upset?"

"To your place."

"I fucking asked you what was wrong, Jameson!"

"Excuse me," a mother interrupts. "Watch your language."

Negan snaps her a glare. "Your kid goes to public school, lady. Guaran-goddamn-tee he's heard worse. Pick another horse and fuck off if you don't like it."

"Fuck," the kid repeats.

"Real nice," she snaps, picking up the child and leaving the ride.

I grab one of the lapels on his jacket to get his attention. "What are we doing, Negan?"

"We're riding this fuck around bullshit apparently."

"Apparently." I'm not referring to the ride.

He's not dumb and sighs. His arms go around me and the bar of the sea dragon. "I'm sorry I can't be what you need." He rests his chin on the top of my head.

"I'm sorry that I guilt you into being something you're not."

He moves away some and looks down at me confused. "You just fucking apologize?"

"Well, yes. I was in the wrong."

His chin settles back on top of my head. "I was married for twelve years and she never once said sorry."

Keep slipping that knife in further...

The lights in the carousel turn on as the music starts.

Negan lets go of me because the sea dragon moves up and down. "Are you mad at me?"

"No."

"Is this like the fine thing? Where you say you're fine, but I pay for it later?"

"No games."

Negan folds his arms with a vacant expression for the length of the ride.

"Don't be like that. Isn't there anything we can do that would make you happy? What about a baseball game?"

"I  **am**  happy. I'm with you."

My eyes well up. "Oh," I stammer. When he says stuff like this, it just makes all this worth it. It shows me that we're taking things in the right direction.

Negan helps me down from the sea dragon once it's over. "I'll, uh." He rubs the back of his neck. "We can do that hand holding shit if you want."

My hand eagerly wants to take up his offer, but I just can't make things any more complicated than they are. You know, it's kind of ironic that when I try to put some distance, he turns into this person that only wants to appease me. Like he can't handle me leaving.

"Captain White," Negan spouts off randomly. "It's a place at the Maine Avenue Fish Market," he better explains. "I want to go there and eat until I'm sick. Lucille was allergic to seafood, so we never went."

"Then we'll go," I smile.

"Forget it, it's stupid. Let's go home."

Home? I swallow the lump in my throat. Sometimes, it's hard to know if he's just this automated machine not thinking about what he says because we don't live together.

"Jameson," he calls, waiting by the cab. "Now."

Before Negan can give the cab driver his address, I tell him that we want to go to Captain White.

"No."

"Shut up," I dismiss Negan.

He grunts and looks out the window.

The closer we get to the market, the more that scowl fades and it's more of a flat daze. So that must be his happy face. Like when he's with me.

Negan's hand is set on my nape as he leads us through the market.

It's chaotic and busy. How does he plan to eat here if it's all raw? Then I see the restaurant he was talking about. I don't even get a chance to tell them what I want because Negan is so excited, and he spends over three hundred dollars on food. He is extremely meticulous, too. Like it's his last meal that consists of clam and fries, 1 pint of clam chowder, 1 pint of lobster bisque, 4 ears of sweet corn, 12 hushpuppies, fried calamari, a jumbo shrimp sandwich, 1 lb of fried shrimp, mac and cheese, baked beans, rice, coleslaw… I honestly lose track after that, and I try my best not to laugh because he is like a little boy as he carries four cardboard boxes full of food stuffed in styrofoam containers. I also have a box and then a plastic bag of condiments including... melted butter? Yuck.

Negan never speaks while he eats. He does, however, answer to yes or no questions with a head nod or shake. Our first dinner, I almost walked away from because I didn't know about this idiosyncrasy. He cracks one of the crab legs and tugs out a piece of meat, then scoots the plate closer to me with the legs.

Honestly, this entire thing is so barbaric. "I just want to eat, not make a big production out of it." I'm thankful he got me my mac and cheese. It's my favorite.

Negan dunks a piece of crab meat in butter, then hands it over to me.

"That's sweet of you, thank you."

He rolls his eyes.

"I know, you hate that crap," I mock him. "But I appreciate it."

"I don't need you to tell me every time you appreciate something. It ain't necessary. I don't do it for a thank you, I do it because I want to and care about you."

"Only you can be a grouch, yet so endearing at the same time."

"Fuck. You." He returns to his silence for the rest of the meal.

I was full forty-five minutes ago, but am patient until he's ready. "No belch?"

He looks offended. "Why would I do something like that in public?"

"Why do you take everything that I say so hostile?" I dip my finger in the melted butter and wipe it on his cheek before I get up.

"Can my food not digest before we get into a fight?"

"Who's fighting?"

"I don't understand you. Fuck knows I've tried. You bitch at me, but you're not really mad. It makes no sense. I think you just like ruffling my goddamn feathers."

"Because you make it easy to have your feathers ruffled." I shake my head. "Lucille must have really done a number on you. I'm not her, Negan."

His fist slams on the table. "I'm not talking about Lucille!"

"Really? So what's your other basis for comparison on the way a relationship works?"

"What-the-fuck-ever. Thanks for ruining three hundred dollars worth of food, you spoiled bitch." Negan storms off and I'm left alone.

It's fine. I'm used to taking care of things for myself.

On the cab ride home, I go by my bank and take some money from my savings, which is only a few hundred. I slip it in Negan's mailbox before the cab takes me home.

I'm not even angry. I'm just upset that I have to pay for Lucille's mistakes  **all**  the time. I just want him to be happy. And, ok, part of me finds his brooding nature to a level of attraction unlike anything else, but the other part of me knows it's wrong to always be on the receiving end of his mood. I'm smarter than that.

Once I'm home, my hairless cat zig zags around my feet. Crap, he's out of food. I spend my last five dollars on a small bag. Luckily, I have some popcorn for me to eat that I had left over from when Negan and I went to the movies.

When I wake up the next morning, it's the sickest I have ever been. I don't understand because I was just fine yesterday. My boss doesn't even allow me to clock in. "Please, I need a full check."

"You work around food. Be fucking smart, Jameson."

"What did you just say to me?" Negan's words leave my mouth. "You don't have to swear at me to prove your point," I cough. It's times like these that make me realize just how much I let Negan get away with.

"I could fire you."

"On what grounds? I want a full day's pay as compensation for your mouth and an apology or I'm going to file a complaint. You think I'm going to allow this to slide with a smile like the others do?" I give him a condescending laugh.

"Look, I'm sorry. It was wrong of me. I don't think that I can legally pay you not on the clock, but if you want to get a few things, I'll pick up the cost."

"Decent." It probably would have been cheaper to pay me than the tab I wrack up but this will most certainly do. So much tea...

….

This sickness takes me down hard. I have to call into work the following day.

"Feel better," my boss tells me.

As I go to hang up, I realize I have seventy-two missed calls and seventy-two voicemails.

_Please come back to the restaurant..._

In fact, they're all from Negan, and with each one becomes a more growing concern in his voice.

_Jameson honey, where are you..._

There's a forceful knock that startles me.

Negan's eyes fall closed when I answer the door as he covers his face with his hands and lets out a heavy sigh. "I thought you were fucking dead. Christ. I went to clear my head and when I came back, you were fucking gone. You haven't been answering the door or your phone. You didn't show up for work."

"Stalker."

His facial expression when he lowers his hands is so pathetic.

It breaks my heart. "I haven't felt well. I wasn't trying to ignore you."

"Was it the seafood? Can you breathe ok?"

Another Lucille comparison. The entire reasoning for this fight. "I need to rest. Goodbye."

His hand stops the door from closing. "I was so fucking worried," he admits with a frown. This man looks like he hasn't slept since we've been apart.

"You left me, Negan."

"I know, and I fucked up. I'm sorry."

"Sorry for what?" Does he even know what set me off?

"I'm not trying to make you pay for the insecurities Lucille left me with, just like I'm not trying to build this Frankenstein of her former self with you."

Ok, I guess he's more intuitive than I give him credit for. "Well… alright. Close the door behind you."

"Uh." He steps inside. "That means with me on this side of it, right?"

"You're cute pathetic."

He grumbles and folds his arms with disgust. "I'm a middle-aged fuck. I'm not fucking cute."

"Yeah, you're right. The moment has passed."

Negan looks around confused after he shuts the door. "Where's all your… furniture shit?"

"I have a chair."

"That's a lawn chair."

I shrug. "Who am I inviting over?"

"Bill."

We both laugh at that one.

However, his expression goes dark again. "Did you go to the doctor?"

"Why? So they can pump me full of antibiotics I'll build a tolerance to? I just need sleep."

"Jesus, Jameson, this place is tiny. Is this even a real apartment, or are you squatting here?"

"Well, it was someone's art studio that was turned into an apartment. At least I have a private bathroom. Rent is cheap." Which I can barely afford it as is.

"Where's your kitchen?"

"I have a small fridge, toaster oven, microwave, and an individual range. The metal sink was used to clean off their art supplies, but it works nicely for dishes. That's all the kitchen I need."

He sighs, placing his hands on his hips. "You deserve better than this." Negan almost trips when my cat startles him. "What in the holy fuck?"

"It's my sphynx cat. Sergeant Sprinkles."

"Stupid fucking name," he mumbles, taking a side step away from it. Negan goes into the bathroom, returning even more annoyed than when he went in. "Where's all your medicine?"

"Are you done with the questions?"

He grunts and goes into the kitchen to get me a glass of water, inspecting the quality of the water by holding the glass up. It's so dank in here, I don't know what he'll be able to see. He immediately dumps it back down the drain. Then comes more snooping. "Groceries? There's only cat food, shit from your work, and some popcorn crumbs from when we went to the– Jameson," he scolds.

"Oh great." I roll my eyes and pick up Sergeant Sprinkles. "Mom's mad."

"Yeah, you must be sick talking to me like that. Go lay fucking down. I'll be right back."

Would you believe that he went to the pharmacy? Sure did.

When he returns, I watch intensively as he starts taking things from the store bags. Bananas, popsicles, tissues, cold medicine, more tea, and a gallon of water. "No mac and cheese," I frown.

"No. It's not good for you."

"But you know I like it," I pout.

He puts another bag on the counter filled with the individual microwavable kind.

"Heh, thank you."

"Get your ass in bed.  **Now**."

I curl up on my beanbag which prompts another fit from Negan when he finds out this is my bed. I'm too exhausted to combat with him anymore and fall asleep.

* * *

When I open my eyes, I'm not alone.

Negan is asleep on the wooden floor beside me. His jacket used as a pillow and his hand on my arm.

I can't believe he stayed here all night. And this close nonetheless. I laugh softly because Sergeant Sprinkles is asleep on his back. However, it doesn't last long.

"You need to get this wrinkled toe off me, Jameson. And don't you dare tell me that he doesn't usually like men."

I reach out and guide him to my beanbag.

"Why does that fucker wear clothes?"

"They get cold because they have no hair. Probably why he likes you because you're like a furnace."

"That's because I'm boiling with hate. How are you feeling?"

"The same."

"It's been days and you're still not any better. You need to let me take you to the doctor."

His concern over this common cold makes me wonder how Lucille passed away. Maybe from an illness? Not that he doesn't have my best interest, but it's just a different kind of concern. "I'll go tomorrow if I'm not better. Don't you have work?"

"I took some time off."

I feel bad. This man has a career that I'm interfering with. "What are you thinking about?"

"I don't want you sleeping on this floor. I'll get you a bed, then we'll work on getting you other things that you need.

"Save your money."

"It ain't fucking charity. It's a necessity. The cat even has a bed for Christ's sake. Who doesn't have a bed?"

"You."

He folds his arms and snaps me a glare. "Well fucking played, but you're not some middle aged fuck in a mid-life crisis, either. You need to let me do this for you."

"Look, I don't want to come across as ungrateful, Negan, but I have my reasons. You don't like to be told thank you, and I don't need a man taking care of me."

Negan huffs an irritated sigh. "I'll be by later to check on you." He covers my feet, then shows himself out.

I wouldn't know if he did because I sleep for 24 hours. The only reason I get up is from this constant knocking.

"Jameson?" A man in a uniform asks.

"Yes?"

He motions at another guy. "Sign here. Let us know where we can put the bed."

I'm going to strangle him…

Sergeant Sprinkles is especially excited for the new bed, already claiming the foot of it.

God, this white tufted headboard is beautiful. I perk up a bit noticing that it's a king size bed because maybe Negan had it in his mind that he'd be sharing it with me. Don't get your hopes up, Jameson...

As I show the men out, I see two paper bags on the ground. One has some sheets in it. The other, groceries. When I look up, I see Negan standing over by a parking meter. I know he can't hear me from across the street, but I say thank you.

Fuck. You, he mouths.

I start to laugh as I lean into the doorframe.

The corner of his lip tugs upward as he gives me a wink, then slips his hands into his pockets and starts home.

* * *

Things between Negan and I haven't been the same after I kinda stupidly made a comment about my bed being a king size and that we should sleep together. Now I'm the one leaving seventy-two voicemails on his phone. Guess I'm the stalker. I send him a text to tell him that I'm going to be at our usual spot for dinner if he wants to talk. He doesn't want to because he doesn't show.

I stop off at the store to get food for Sergeant Sprinkles. Great. Top shelf again. Though, like that time with the shampoo, a worn leather sleeve reaches up and gets it for me. Only… it's not Negan. Jesus, this guy is tall. Like Negan's height.

"Last one," he smirks.

"You take it."

He sets it in my hands. "It's ok," he winks. "I'll just have to spoil mine and get the more expensive kind."

"Well, it's not good to switch up their food. It upsets their stomach. We could split it."

"At least let me pay for it."

I just cringe at his offer. I hate charity, but I just can't let his cat have an upset stomach or god forbid he doesn't stop by another store to get it food. I swallow back my disgust and nod.

As we stand in line, I can't help but think how this guy could be Henry Cavill's twin.

He catches me sneaking a second glance and laughs. "You can say it."

"It's… well, you look just like him. It's uncanny."

"People would stop me in the store when Man of Steel first came out. I'd have to take out my ID and show them it wasn't me. Even then, some people still wanted pictures."

He's actually very nice, but no one can come close to Negan. Even though Negan might be a douchebag, he's my douchebag. I miss him so much.

"I'll take you home if you want," he offers when I tell him I don't have a car.

"I don't want to come across as rude, but I don't know you. You're a stranger."

"Fair enough."

"I'm sorry."

"No, it's ok. Have a good night, alright?"

I nod and startle from the noise of his motorcycle. You know, it's funny how things work out because that very next day, guess who shows up at the coffee shop? Like Negan knew another man had talked to me. I want to ignore me like he's been ignoring me, but I'm so weak.

On my break, I have a seat at Negan's table. Something isn't right. The veins in his neck are protruding.

He leans in with a snarl. "Did you get his number?"

That's what he has to say to me?! After everything, he's upset about a man in the market? "Screw you, Negan." I get up from my chair as the legs slide loudly across the wooden floor. When he tries to speak again I slap him. "Leave. Now."

"Fine, go throw your cunt at my replacement," he barks, knocking everything from the table before he's gone.

My tears give, followed by a sob. I can't believe him. Believe any of this. Especially, how we got here. It costs me my pay because I'm sent home for the outburst. All for a man who doesn't give a shit about me.

* * *

**A/N Let me know what you think! I really appreciate it. This story will be 4 chapters now.**


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N Jameson's face claim is Dove Cameron. I have no control over this story anymore and keep adding chapters. Let's say five for now until I add another one.**

* * *

"Jameson, cover the front," my boss says.

Me? I like the back.

Negan is here today despite how ugly things got yesterday. He gives me some half attempt at a smile.

A smile I dismiss. I'm just a machine today, and it somehow impresses my boss. Now I have the luxury of being at the front the following day. Wonderful. And another day where Negan is here. I don't understand him. I'm **exhausted** from trying to understand him.

"Hi," a man smiles down at me.

I turn my attention to the man who is obviously lost. These type of Wall Street businessmen don't come around here.

"I'm Grant."

"Douchebag," Negan coughs.

"Jameson." Then I feel guilty for saying it because the only reason I said it was to make Negan jealous.

Grant is flattering and kind, then tips very generously. Jesus, one hundred dollars?

Negan is not impressed, and he's quite pissed once Grant leaves. He looks at me disgusted, then walks out.

The next day is more brooding glares from Negan, and they're only worse when Grant shows up. Grant asks me out to dinner, but I tell him it's not a good night.

That night, I get a text from Negan.

_You threw yourself at him like a bitch in heat. Fucking whore._

I cry most of the night over it so when Grant shows up the following day, I accept his offer to go to dinner.

It's actually way over the top. I don't even know what half this food is. Es… es.. car. Snails. I'm eating snails. Check, please.

Grant has purchased me an expensive necklace.

I don't feel right about it. But the more Negan distances himself from me, the easier it gets to be with Grant.

Until one night at dinner, I just break down and start to cry. I apologize and return the necklace. Tell Grant how sorry I am and about my feelings for Negan. I feel awful. Especially, because I'm not being true to myself.

"I figured there was someone else. It's ok, Jameson. Let me take you home."

I smile at his kindness.

I'm antsy to get home and want to call Negan. He probably won't answer, but I'll keep trying. Actually, I have Grant take me close by where Negan lives. "Here is fine."

He parks under a broken street light.

"Goodnight," I tell Grant. As I reach for the handle, my head is forced into the window so hard, it disorients me. I start to cry as I reach for my bloody head. "No," I beg as he rips my underwear.

"Go ahead and scream, bitch. Attract the filth that walk these streets. I'll let them have a turn, too."

I still try to fight him off even though I don't stand a chance.

Grant flips me over and pushes up my dress.

"Stop," I sob.

All the glass shatters on me and then Grant is pulled out of the window above to me.

I hear Negan's voice before I see him as I squint from the sting of the blood in my eyes.

"You pussy, I'm just getting started." Negan delivers a beating so brutal, you can see parts of Grant's skull. Grant's eyeball has actually popped from the socket and is hanging by the tendons. "You in there, Buddy? I just don't know. Seems like you're trying to speak, but just took a hell of a hit. I cracked your skull so much that your fucking eye popped out. It's gross as shit."

I push my dress back in place and get out of the car only to trip onto the pavement. Before I hit it, Negan catches me.

He hoists me up in his arms, then goes back to Grant. Negan gets Grant's wallet and takes all the money in it to give to the cab driver that's parked behind Grant's car. "You might want to call a hearse for that fuck."

I rest my head weary on his shoulder as he climbs the steps to his door. His loft is in disarray, more than it already was, if you can believe that. There must be at least fifty cups of coffee everywhere. Like he shows up when I'm not there and then feels obligated to get something.

He gently puts me on his couch. He's covered in Grant's blood.

"You're going to lose your job."

"Fuck my job. If fucking that fuck up costs me my job, I don't want to fucking be a part of a place like that. Besides, I didn't kill the fuck. I just fucked him up." Negan tends to the wound on my head, then cleans my face. Some of my clothes are still over here. As he slides a pair of panties up my legs, that's when his head bows. "I'm so fucking sorry."

I put a hesitant hand on his shoulder. "You stopped it."

"I could have prevented it," he yells, getting to his feet. In one swift motion, he grabs his TV and throws it out the window.

I hear it ping several times down the ladder before it bursts open against the concrete.

"Goddammit!"

I just hope to god that he appreciates my levity right now. "The TV was the one thing that worked right."

"No, it didn't. I fucking broke it the day I sent you that text message because I was so goddamn disgusted with myself."

"Oh," I frown. "I just wish that wasn't your first text message to me."

"It wasn't, it was just the first one I sent."

"What do you mean?"

"Jameson, I want more with you than what we have, delete. Jameson, you never leave my thoughts, delete. Jameson, the only time that I have felt like an actual human being since Lucille is when I'm with you, delete. Jameson, I have never felt this happy, delete. Jameson, I love you, fucking delete. Whatever, I'm going to shower."

My eyes move with him across the loft as the rest of me is paralyzed. Love? Tears roll down my cheeks. "Why didn't you say anything sooner, you stupid bastard!"

He drops his shirt to the floor. "The **fuck** did you just say to me?"

I draw in my lips in briefly, partially because his form makes me speechless, but find my rage again. "You heard me!"

"Oh, right. Because you'd be so fucking thrilled at the idea of us. Some middle-aged fuck who can't get out of bed most days because he's too tore up about his dead wife. Who lives in a shit part of town in a shit fuck nine hundred square foot room above a Chinese place which I'm not even confident that's really what happens down there. Fuck, Jameson. You're better off without me. That's why I ignored you when you said you loved me that night. I try my best to be callous or push you away. But then I see what happens when a man actually does approach you. I can't handle that shit. I don't want you fucking some fuck that ain't me. So I stalk you like a crazy fuck. Stalk you on this dinner date. Wrack up a fucking two hundred dollar fare as we ride around after you and fuckboy. Just forget it, ok? Forget the idea of us because it ain't gonna happen." He finishes stripping down on the way to the shower before flipping on the water to wash the blood off.

I snap him a glare. Unbelievable! The audacity! I might not be able to pick up a TV, but I swipe one of his heavy black harness boots and throw it right at his head.

"Ow, goddammit!"

I throw the other one too.

That one he deflects as it flies right into the toilet. "Are you kidding me with this shit?!"

"You come find me when you grow up, Negan!"

"You think this is easy for me?"

"So I'm just supposed to fit into your world, always wanting more, but never getting it? And then when a man takes an interest, you get scared. I can't do this anymore. I want more. No, I need more. I need more, and you're going to give it to me or I'm gone." I'm terrified by my own words because whatever this is we have is better than losing him.

His arm lurches at me as he yanks me to him by the front of my dress.

I whine when I'm shoved face first against the wall. The water is freezing cold as my teeth start to chatter.

Negan grabs a fist full of hair as he leans down and his massive frame blocks the water. "The fuck did you just say to me?" He jerks my dress up over my rear and my stomach leaps. "I'm going to _give_ it to you?"

Yes! Finally. "I didn't stutter!" I look over my shoulder to eagerly wait for this man, but his eyes are vacant. The desire gone. It's only shame and the impotence he feels. It breaks my heart watching him vulnerable. I shut the water off. "It's ok."

"It's not. I want this with you so fucking much, but I can't. All I see is her. She's frail in that bed. Hooked up to all these machines… and I…"

I get his towel and start to dry him off. "Negan, you've created all these impassive walls. They have to come down. You have to talk about her. You need to grieve. It's the only way you can move on." I touch his cheek. "Ok?"

"What if I can't move on, James? Am I supposed to watch you fall in love with some fuck because I can't give you the things you need to be happy?"

His new nickname for me is sweet. It makes me feel special. Loved. Wanted. "What do you want, Neg-"

"I need you! Ok? I'm fucking possessive, and controlling, and jealous. And I'm those things because then maybe I won't lose you, too!" He takes the towel and finishes drying off before he gets a pair of pajama pants. "I'd never hurt you. That's not what I mean when I say I'm possessive. I just can't stand you and other men." He plops down on his mattress.

I walk over to him, stopping once my toes hit the front of the mattress. My fingers run through his damp hair.

Negan uses his towel to dry my legs, then reaches up for the zipper on the dress. Off comes my dress as it pools around my feet. He takes me by the hips and presses his lips against the fabric of my panties. Once more as he moves down a bit. His eyes close as he takes in a deep breath through his nose.

I know he's not ready. Truthfully, I'm not very confident with this kind of thing. He just makes me confident. I hold him by the shoulders and straddle him.

His large hands roam my back and rear. "I…" He lowers his face between my breasts. "...can't."

"It's ok. I'm just enjoying being close."

He picks his head up some, his eyes so vacant. "Six months before she got sick, I came home early. She was naked in our bed like she was waiting on me. Something wasn't right. The window was open, curtain flapping with the humid breeze. I look down to see that another man had already been inside my wife. She must have dozed off before she got a chance to clean him from her. My wife let some other man fuck her in **our** bed. From then on, I fucked anyone that looked my way. I could never get rid of that image of her pumped full of someone who wasn't me. But I wasn't a good husband, Jameson. I worked long hours purposely so I didn't have to go home to her. I was guilty of flirting with the teachers. I was always in a bad mood when I did come home. I guess I just never thought I was that bad of a man until I saw what my distance got me. It was a guy that used to come into her work. They'd share the train ride home together. He'd leave her these large tips. That's why I'm fuckin possessive, and controlling, and fucking jealous. Only, you're not mine to do that with..."

You know, for a woman I say I'm not alike, some of the parallels are hard to deny. That's why he gets so worked up over those other men. "Surely you know that I'd be yours."

"For how fucking long? How many years are you going to put up with me brooding over a woman who isn't you?"

"Time is on my side, not yours."

"Fuck you with that shit. You're an asshole." He moves me off him and gets me one of his shirts.

Once I'm in the oversized shirt, I take my bra off under it.

His eyes follow it as it's thrown to the floor. "You didn't answer my question."

"Negan, you look past all the little things. The flats you bought and put on me. My whale shark. That night on the couch. My tea. The bed. Taking care of me after Grant."

"I don't deserve you. I treat you like shit. I'm abusive and so fucking angry."

"You're not abusive, you're just not very nice."

"I still don't deserve you."

"Well, I'm here now."

"Yeah… until you're not." He crawls into bed laying face first on the mattress. "I'm tired now."

I scoot close to him, knowing he hates it.

"I'm not a goddamn stuffed animal."

"You'll get over it," I smile, trying not to laugh.

That's when he turns his head to look at me. His thumb grazes one of my dimples. "Are you ok after what he did to you?"

"He didn't do anything. You stopped it."

"I shouldn't have had to stop a grown man from putting his filthy fucking hands on you."

"I'm ok."

"Fine. Goodnight."

Now left with my thoughts, I'm not ok. It's always so cold in his loft. I hate it. My wet hair doesn't help. I roll over carefully because I'm not sure where these springs are at. That and I'm not sure when one will give.

His heavy limb comes over me and he pulls me under him.

I can make out his face because he's left on the kitchen light.

He cups my cheek, his thumb running across my lips. "I lied."

"About?" I'm nervous now.

"I think about your lips around my cock every chance I get. Think about fucking your tight cunt, then make you lick yourself from me. What your tits look each time they bounce because you're riding me so fucking hard you're about to snap my dick off. Or how you'd look after I shoot a load so far inside your wet heat. I wonder if I could get a fuck or a shit to leave those sweet innocent lips. Do you like to be choked? Spanked? If you're not with me, I think about all that and shoot down the shower wall. Yeah, I still get it up. Just shamefully, and behind closed doors. So why is it so hard to fuck you? Why aren't your nails running down my back right now? The fucking question is rhetorical. I know why. The question is, how long are you going to put up with my impotence?"

His confession leaves me wanting him more than I ever have. "I'll just keep using my vibrator."

He lowers his face into the crook of my neck and groans. "Goddammit."

I'm honestly shocked by all this. "The more pressure you keep putting on sex, the more difficult it becomes. Right now, we might as well be an affair. Grieve your wife, Negan."

"It makes the pain real then. I don't want to feel."

"Then there's no future for us."

That gets him. In fact, he's very choked up from it.

It voids any doubt I have that we'll never be together. "One day at a time. One thing at a time. I don't expect you to take me to bed, make love to me, and then we sleep against each other."

"Make love," he scoffs. "No goddamn way."

"I'm going to slap you."

"I guess that'd be ok."

"You know what I mean!" I give him a kiss on the cheek.

He grimaces and shys away. "You know I hate that shit."

I wipe the embrace away. "I know, but you'll get over it. Sleep."

"Yeah. Fine." He doesn't hold me, but he's close to me and that's all that matters.

* * *

I wake up to the most violent knock on his door before it's kicked in.

Negan is halfway across the loft ready to protect what is his.

"Police!"

I cover my mouth as I watch them take Negan to the ground.

"You're under arrest."

"No! He didn't do anything." Oh, god. This is because of Grant!

* * *

I'm a nervous wreck for days of hearing nothing, but when I do get answers, I don't want them. Grant is pressing charges for the brutal beating. I don't speak to Negan for almost three months other than a few phone calls while we wait for his trial.

Once Grant is released from the hospital, a court date is set. As humiliating as it is to have to relive everything, I've also pressed charges for what Grant did to me.

Grant has the best lawyer money can buy. He only gets three years for what he did to me, and Negan gets five for what he did to Grant.

I'm given a few moments with Negan. His hands are in shackles so he can't return the embrace I give him. "I'm so sorry."

His head bows on my shoulder and he sighs. "I knew I should have fucked you that night."

I laugh even though the tears won't stop.

"Time." Negan is pulled away before the entire word even leaves the officer's mouth.

I follow after them as he's taken to the bus.

Negan looks back at me and gives me his pitiful attempt at a smile.

As I return the gesture, he's out of sight. "No," I sob.


	4. Chapter 4

The first time I get to see Negan, it's been four weeks. He has a seat on the other side of that glass and I break. His poor face is bruised to hell. "What happened," I ask over the phone.

"Some motherfucker hit me with his lunch tray."

"Are you ok? I mean… are you in danger?"

"I'm ok." He covers his eyes with his hand as his breathing becomes heavier against the receiver. "I fucking regret every time I was cold and distant to you. All the times you slept on my couch when I should have taken you to bed. I'm sorry, Jameson."

"Look at me." My hand touches the glass between us. "Five years isn't that long."

"I'm not stupid. You'll find someone else. At least, in here, I don't have to see it. I'll just know when you don't show up that month."

"Stop it!"

He's quiet, not that words were ever his strong suit.

"We only get an hour. Talk to me."

"I love you." He hangs up the phone and walks away from the booth.

That's the first and last time I see him.

I go up there every month for over a year, but it's always the same thing.

Nothing.

I try to keep as positive as I can. This has to be difficult for him, and maybe he's dealing with it the best way he knows how.

I moved into his loft the first day he was gone. It's the only thing I have of him. Despite always wanting to get rid of his mattress, I sleep on it every night. Right in the rut he's made.

A lot of people were outraged by the verdict because Negan didn't get a fair trial, and people constantly fought to get him an appeal. I was able to talk to the principal at his school and she assured me that his job would be waiting for him once he got out. I wish he could see how much everyone loves him. How much I love him.

* * *

After the second year, I started to see what Negan meant about losing me. Random guys seemed to show up in my life when I was feeling my lowest. I just want Negan to know I don't give them the time of day.

But not only do I push them away, in a way, I push Negan away, too. What he did to me was cruel when all I've done is try to be his strength. And who's to say that when he is released he wants anything to do with me? God, I'm stupid.

Grant didn't even serve his full three years.

I filed a restraining order, but I'd be lying if I said I wasn't scared. That is until I get word that he raped and murdered this college student. It makes me sick because no one saw the warning signs with me. It was just some witch hunt to put Negan in jail, and Grant slipped through the system.

One rainy Tuesday I get a letter. I flip it over and rip a piece of it trying to get it open.

_James,_

_It's a long shot that you'll get this letter, but if I know you, you've moved into my loft. What I don't know is if you'll take the time to read this, or if you're still there. It's almost been three years, but you're always on my mind. I hope you understand that walking away from you was the best option I saw fit. To give you a chance to live a normal life without the guilt that I'm in here._

_I saw Grant today. Well, for about two seconds before the other inmates beat him to death for raping that girl. I stayed out of it only because I don't want anything that will take more time from us._

_Anyway, if you're reading this, and there's any part of you that would forgive me for walking away, I want to see you at the end of the month. If not, I understand, and I'll just take it as you've moved on._

_Negan_

I press the letter to my chest and sob. He didn't even swear. Of course, I want to see this man, but I'm afraid that prison is going to make him even more angry and distant once he is released.

A part of me doesn't want to show, but I know that if I don't go, I'll regret it. It's the longest two weeks of my life. And when the time comes to see him, I never make it. The cab I take to the prison gets t-boned by a drunk driver.

* * *

I'm in a coma for almost two months and, when I wake up, I spend another five months in the hospital from a broken back and neck. I have to learn how to do the most basic things again like how to walk.

My sister was nice enough to keep paying rent on Negan's loft which I appreciated more than she'll ever know. She also took care of Sergeant Sprinkles for me.

Once I'm finally able to leave the hospital, it's overwhelming. I've missed the prison visiting hours this month by two days. My heart sinks when we get to his place and there's no mail. That means Negan thinks that I've found someone else. In fact, it angers me. Like Negan gave up on me. It's complete crap.

"Will you be ok on your own?"

"Yes," I tell my sister.

"Here, they gave me this card. You have to go pick up the mail at the post office."

My eyes widen when the bucket of mail is set on the counter. There are almost five hundred letters from Negan. I guess he didn't give up on me. Maybe by the end of his term, I'll be through them all.

I sit in his bed trying to sort them by dates. God, the first letter breaks me.

_Guess you've moved on..._

He goes on to talk to me in the other ones like nothing ever happened. Maybe it helps him. It rips what's left of my heart. He's so stoic in the first few, then I can start to see a shift in his writing.

_I was actually the runt on the team if you can believe it. Picked last. Not wanted to be picked. Then a summer went by and needless to say I didn't have that problem anymore._

I smile thinking about how his job is waiting for him when he gets back. He's so good with the kids. After I'm fifty or so letters in, I end up falling asleep. I don't usually sleep well because of the physical pain from the accident so I decide to write him a letter. Say all the things I'm afraid to face to face, like how much all of this distance he's put between us has hurt me. I wonder if it will reach him before I'm able to see him again? I feel so stupid at this kind of thing because I still don't know how it works. Surely I should be able to call him. But do I just go up to the prison? I use the internet on my phone for some guidance, but it's all conflicting information. Kinda like when you google a cough and it ends up being the worst sickness possible. I sigh and start looking through his drawers for a pen and paper. Oh, wait, I think I saw something in one of his kitchen drawers. Just walking is something I thought after the wreck I'd never be able to do again. It's funny how you take things for granted—

"Jameson."

I turn to look at him over my shoulder.

Negan's eyes shift to the tub of mail and scattered letters. "I guess you haven't gotten to my last one yet. I got out early."

For a minute, I'm questioning the time. That maybe five years really had gone by and I lost track. He looks like not a single day has gone by. Like his words that day as he walked away from the booth haven't hurt him even though they did me to my core. "I got in an accident that day I was supposed to come see you. I just left the hospital a few days ago—"

He grabs me by the cheeks as his lips silent mine. "I fucking thought I'd never see you again after I pushed you away. I'm so fucking stupid. Christ, I'm sorry I wasn't there to take care of you while you healed."

I pull away from his embrace because it feels... wrong.

"Jameson honey, what's the matter?"

"I don't know," I shrug as my eyes well up. "I've fantasized about this, but…" Now I don't want it. "You didn't escape, did you?"

"No," he laughs, reaching back for me.

"Stop, just, please. This is all just a bit overwhelming."

"I know what it is, and there's something I want to show you." He holds out his left hand. He's not wearing his wedding ring. "I had to take it off when they booked me, then got it back once they released me. But I left it there, and closed that chapter. As weird as it sounds, I needed that time that prison gave me. To clear my head, to grieve her, to move on so I can have a chance with you. I mean, that is if you still want that chance. That sounds so fucking cliche. I know that things are emotional right now, but you have every right to hate me for what I fucking did to you. James, I mind fucked you because I was fucking scared. Christ, every month when they said I had a visitor, it was so hard not to see you. Then when you didn't show up after I wrote you that letter, fuck, it broke me. Until I found out some motherfucker hit you. Hurt what's mine. I'm so fucking sorry. Please, give me another chance."

No, the cliche thing would be if we made love. Negan and I have a lot of issues to get past Lucille being only one of many. "I've thought every day about the moment I'd get to see you again, but it's not as easy as making love and living happily ever after. I've given you so many chances, yet you keep disappointing me. And... I'm not yours."

"I'll make you the loose tea, or take you to the sea dragon." He tries to keep bargaining with me to salvage some resemblance of we had before, but he breaks. "I'm a fucking fool," he sobs.

I know what I have to do, and as difficult as it is, it needs to be done. "Listen to me. I want you to go visit Lucille. Think about if you're truly ready to move past her, and if you are… we'll talk."

I wait for him to leave, then pack my things and get Sergeant Sprinkles. As much as I love Negan, we're just not good together and I don't want this distance we've been through to give me these false feelings.

I move in with my sister, which Negan doesn't know where she lives. With me no longer working at the coffee shop, he won't be able to find me.

* * *

After a year, I'm finally starting to feel like my former self again. Ironically, today is the day Negan should be getting out of jail. I think about him a lot. Us. What could have been if I didn't walk out. But Negan did a lot of things to me that really hurt me. He might have been ready to start something, but I wasn't, and I'm not sure if that's something I'll ever want. I was young and dumb when we met. Naive. Took his neglect and anger. Well, no more.

My sister got married and moved in with some big-time CEO. Their house is a little over a hundred miles from Negan so I know there's no chance of ever running into him which was something I often feared.

I moved into a shoebox one-room studio apartment not far from them. God, if Negan saw this place, he'd flip. No more service industry for me. Well, ok. I guess I lied. I work at this upscale hotel. I'm a maid. I like it because I'm by myself all day. I just put my headphones in and get lost.

A bunch of kids whizz past me with muddy cleats on. Great. That should be fun to vacuum up later. I park my supply cart at room 217 and start my routine. Thankfully, this room isn't in all that bad of shape. Actually, it's like no one has been here other than the small empty bottle of Jameson in the trash and the comforter on the floor. I think it's so gross we don't wash the comforter unless it's filthy. Instead, it just goes from the floor, back to the bed. This is actually really common in all hotels, too. Yuck. Now for the bathroom.

I tilt my head to the side some to see a box on the counter and tug my earphones out. Now I understand why the room looks untouched. There's an engagement ring in the box still. The man must have proposed and the women said no before leaving. I pick it up and look it over. Something like this must be worth a small fortune. God, it's so beautiful. It's not typical at all. In fact, it's an antique-

"It was my mother's."

I don't need to see him to recognize the voice and my eyes fall closed.

Negan steps into the bathroom, setting down a bag of sports equipment. "She told me to give it to Lucille. I never did because I knew Lucille wouldn't appreciate the sentiment of it. It'd be used to her. So I held onto it, figured if we had a daughter, I'd give it to her." Negan taps the velvet box. "This is new though. When you told me to go see Lucille, I walked out to buy a box to put the ring in. Jameson, I was honest with you that day. My closure was when I left my wedding ring at the prison. I'm not the same man. I'm finally at a point in my life where I can give you all the things you need. I guess I'm just… too late. Where I felt the distance brought us closer, it pushed you away."

I cover my face, angry I'm crying in front of him.

"I saw you yesterday when we checked in for the away game. Talked to your manager and explained everything. Went back to my loft get the ring. This is my hotel room. That's why you were assigned to this room."

"I finally learned how to forget you and now you walk back into my life!"

"Oh," he frowns dropping his head.

That's such a lie. I think about Negan every minute of every day.

"I started back to my old… stalker ways. Remembered you had a sister. I found her on that Facebook internet site. Sixty-eight thousand friends like you said. Right as I started to message her, I walked away from the computer. Ran from the library. I didn't want to repeat those old habits and force you into being with me if you didn't want it. And I wanted better for you. Then a year later, on the day I should be released from prison, here we are. Both at this hotel. I'm a fool for thinking you'd take this ring and I could call you mine. I'm sorry that I've disrupted your life. I never meant for that. James, if you want to forget me, I understand. But you take this ring and sell it. And buy all the things that I was never able to give you because I was never able to see what has always been right in front of me until it was too late. I promise I will never bother you again." Negan leans down and gives me a kiss on my cheek. "Goodbye."


	5. Chapter 5

"Jameson neat," Negan tells the bartender.

I've been sitting in this booth watching him at the hotel bar. He only has one drink, pays the man, then starts for his room. As the door closes behind him, I stick my foot in the doorway to catch it.

"Goddammit," Negan hisses when he sees that I've left the ring on the counter.

I carefully close the door and move into the bathroom.

His hands are pressed to the counter as his head bows and he sobs against the marble.

My tears give because he's suffering like all the times I did when I wanted him but couldn't have him. "I don't know how we got here," my voice quivers.

"Fuck," he startles, "you scared me."

_You're shit at being aware of your surroundings._

"You're not good about your surroundings either." He looks so good in the dirty black baseball shirt he still hasn't changed out of. Tight dark gray baseball pants that hug the best spots of him.

"I hate you in that fucking maid uniform. It's goddamn degrading."

How our thoughts couldn't be any more different yet identical at the same time. "What's the difference between this apron? Or the coffee shop and bakery one?"

"The way you looked at me in them."

My heart, yet it's a slap in the face. This is his doing! "You act like this is my fault! Like I put this distance between us, Negan."

"I understand quite fucking well this is my fuck up. Realized that the second I walked in my door and tried to kiss you. So how do I fucking fix it? What do I do, James? I mean… is it really too late for us? I needed to forget her. Time to heal so I could be the man you needed."

I know he's right, but I'm just so angry at the way things have gone. Truthfully, I don't have an answer for him.

"Look, I'm here all weekend. Stay with me. Let me show you that I am not that same man and if at the end of my time it doesn't work out, I go back to DC and you never have to see me again."

Stop being prideful. This is a man you cry over at night and he is begging you. I bet if I asked him to get on his knees he would. I take a deep breath. "I'll meet you at Bookbinder's. It's a seafood and steakhouse here. You'll need to make us reservations. Eight."

"I, uh. Is it fancy? I didn't bring much."

"Figure it out."

He nods with the most hopeful expression. "Eight. Ok. I'll see you then."

* * *

I narrow my eyes when I catch a glimpse of Negan. Bastard. He would look good in a white button down. Sleeves rolled up. I fold my arms annoyed.

Negan sighs down at me. "Guess we should get inside so I can fuck shit up."

"Yeah. Fine."

_Yeah. Fine._

God, it's almost unsettling how things have flipped. I'm the brooding grouch and he's just happy to be at my side.

Thankfully, we're sat in a dank back corner.

Negan sits beside me in the booth. "You look-"

"Beautiful." I roll my eyes.

"Miserable."

"I am."

He sighs and opens the menu. "Get fucking over it or fucking leave then."

"Excuse me?" Oddly… it… makes me laugh. Maybe it's insane, but he's the only one that calls me on my bs and I need that.

The waiter comes over and drones on about aged meat in a cellar, but Negan quickly puts a stop to it.

"Ribeye. Rare. An order of clams casino. Three orders of the crab cakes. Jumbo shrimp cocktail. Shrimp bisque. An order of the scampi and the fried shrimp. And six pounds of lobster. You can bring her the lobster macaroni and cheese. Two portions."

I smile up at him when he remembers things like this.

Negan's eyes follow the waiter until he's out of range. "Why are you miserable?"

Don't be vulnerable. "Because I miss you." Good job with that.

He nods as his eyes well up. "My work is the only thing keeping a gun out of my mouth." His hand shyly finds mine under the table. "This has been the hardest year of my life."

That speaks volumes because of Lucille. Prison.

"I know I never acted like it, but you are everything to me, James."

And he is everything to me. I love him without fail.

The waiter sets down our drinks including Negan's Jameson.

"You never drank before."

"I just wanted a reason to say your name."

I squeeze his hand back. As words start to leave my lips, his press against mine. Any reserves go out the window. I return the embrace deeply.

His fingers tangle my hair as the kiss leaves him heavy breathed. He rests his forehead against mine. "Come home," he stammers. He tucks his face in the crook of my neck and hugs me.

Home. I think back to that day at Captain White when he said to come home. Has he always meant my place was with him? Have I just been blinded by Lucille instead of seeing how much I mean to him? I guess there's no point to dwell on it because we still needed the break. Negan has done some pretty cruel things to me. Things that needed to be brought to light. For him to know I will not tolerate it. But I think he knows that. And he's right. He doesn't seem to be that same man.

It takes three waiters to bring our food.

Honestly, I'm not that hungry. I've overexerted myself too much and I'm in a lot of pain. As I drift off into more thought, Negan digs into his pocket.

"I got a new driver's license the other day. Check out the picture."

Is he really talking while eating?

"Bitch wouldn't let me take another one either."

"Everyone always looks bad in their—" I start to laugh. Negan was in mid-sneeze when this was taken. Parted lips. Squinted eyes. Nose all pushed up. "I like it."

"Of course you do. I look like that wrinkled toe of yours in it."

"His name is Sergeant Sprinkles, and you do look like him."

Negan gets distracted by my dimples, then my lips. He swallows the lump in his throat. "You had me meet you here in case shit didn't work, right? So I wouldn't know where to find you."

"I have even less than when I lived in DC. Frankly, I don't want to hear you complain about it."

"Why do you have so little?"

"I'm in a lot of pain after the accident so I can't work as many hours. Even right now, it's pretty bad."

"Do you need to go? What can I do?" Negan snaps his fingers at the waiter. "Box all this up. We need to leave immediately."

My eyes well up as I turn away from him. I remember how he was so upset that I ruined his dinner at Captain White. Now, I most certainly have ruined this and he's not thinking about that. He's concerned with me.

"Are you ok to walk, James?"

I nod, but take up his offer to help me from the booth. We don't speak on the way back to the hotel, not for his lack of trying. I'm just lost in thought. He takes it as me in pain. That's nothing new for me.

"You're not staying the night, are you?"

"No. Negan, it's not goodbye. It's just… not now," I tell him once we make it to the hotel.

He doesn't respond and I think it's because he's trying to keep himself from crumbling. That somber expression that turns ill once he gets out of the cab. The sulk in the bags of leftover food as they are lowered even further. He can't even look at me anymore and shuts the door.

"Where to, honey?"

* * *

I thought a lot about Negan and I that weekend. What really solidified things for me was when that cab driver called me honey. There's only one person that I feel has that right.

Negan opens the front door up to his loft. He stops in the doorway, dropping his bag. "Jameson honey, wh… what are you doing here?"

My eyes spill with tears. Along with all my possessions in a small bag, I brought Sergeant Sprinkles with me as he zigzags through Negan's legs. "I don't know," I laugh a little nervously. He said to come home, I just hope this is the right decision. "I want to hate you, but I can't. I want to push you away, but I won't. Even when I try, there you are in that white button up and ugh." I roll my eyes disgustedly.

He rubs the back of his neck uncomfortably. "I can put it back on."

I sniff up my nose. "I want things the way they were."

His eyes go dark. "I don't, James."

Oh, god. I've messed everything up. Pushed him too far and now it's too late. I can't even look at him, but he grabs me by the bicep and pulls me to him.

"I mean, I don't want it the way they were because that wasn't me. Well, some of it was, but the way I treated you wasn't. I know why you're mad, and I know why you put that distance between us. I don't fault you for it. You met me at a really difficult time in my life and it's complete bullshit what I put you through. I should have been a fucking man and come to you when I was ready. Not led you along only giving you enough to want more but never committing."

"So what you're saying is the guy I fell in love with doesn't exist?"

"Fuck. You. Did you listen to a fucking word I said?"

_Fuck. You._

I start to laugh. There he is.

"Here's what's going to happen. You're going to put that goddamn ring on, then I'm going to fuck what's finally fucking mine. Do you understand me? I should have given you an empty box instead. I know how you hate a man taking care of you. That way, you could buy your own ring. You're a goddamn mess."

"You love it."

"I do. Very much. Are you going to fucking marry me or not?"

"I'm thinking."

He grunts and looks away from me.

"Take me to the seahorse."

"No, fuck that shit. I offered that already."

"You're awfully mouthy for someone that's been given a second chance."

"And you act like you don't love it either. Like you're not rubbing your thighs together in anticipation, begging internally for my cock. Fuck me, Negan," he tries to imitate my voice.

"Well? Give me my ring and fuck me, Negan."

"Would you listen to that filthy fuckery leaving those sweet lips, goddamn!"

"On your knees while you do it."

"Bitch," he scoffs, getting to the floor. "Will you marry me now so I can fuck you?"

"Try harder, or I'll get that return ticket."

"James—"

"Good enough," I smile, holding my hand out.

"Wh… I was _going_ to say some real romantical shit, I'll have you fucking know."

"You can romantical me against your shower wall. Make with the ring." I don't see the ring, I just feel it slipped on before he has me against the wall. I whimper as I hit it.

His lips go for my neck only taking them from it to get my shirt off.

I laugh as he has trouble with my bra.

"I'm trying to hold you up, and it's been a long fucking time since I've done this. Fuck. You."

"I wish you would."

He flips me around, shoving me face first into the wall again.

That's when my pants come down just enough to feel the sting of his hand. I can't move because his forearm has me in place across my shoulder blades. I'm given another sharp smack.

Negan touches his lips to my ear. "Shower or the counter?" His hand stings once more. "Or maybe I'll just fuck you right here."

"Negan." I glance up at him over my shoulder. "I've never done this before." I watch his lust turn to concern.

"What!?"

Oh, crap. Maybe that wasn't the right thing to say.

He sighs and tugs my pants back up. "You were just going to let me fuck you? Just like that?"

"Well," I shrug, "yeah."

Negan snaps me a glare.

"And I don't understand why I have to pick. Why can't you fuck me in all three places?" I see his arousal stir in his pants when he mistakes that for something else. I don't think he's going to have a difficult time taking my bra off this time.

"I'll give you two minutes of romantical fucking, then it's on. Hole and location my choosing." His lips press harshly to mine as his starts to unbuckle his belt.

Each time the metal clanks against something it makes my stomach knot further.

He takes a step into the shower and off comes his shirt and boxer briefs.

I remember that day on his couch watching him shower admiring this very same thing.

His arm comes from out of the water only so he can bring me to him.

My hands explore a perfect form that doesn't disappoint.

He tilts his head back with a moan.

I work my hand against him as his hips start to meet my torturous strokes.

With a single attempt, the backstrap of my bra falls to my sides. Then the fabric is abandoned off to the side somewhere.

"Fuck yes." I'm not so sure what excites him, but his greedy hands go for my chest. One hand breaks free only to put me back against the wall.

"Have me, Negan." I startle when I'm lifted up abruptly.

"Don't close your eyes. Look at me, James. If you're not ready—"

"I am. I want this." My fingers curl tighter on his shoulders as he slowly starts to ease into me. There's this uncomfortable fleeting moment, overtaken by pleasure. The moan comes uncontrollably.

He breathes heavily against my neck as his thrusts become more routine, and they're less drawn out. "So… fucking. Fuck!"

Indeed. Words have also evaded me. My hands are slippery against his skin.

He leans down for a kiss as his thrusts become deeper as he combats with keeping me in a position he finds satisfying. "Fuck this shit." The shower is flipped off and he takes me to the kitchen counter. "I'd think about fucking you just like this at the bakery." He claims what's his. "Your fingerprints against the glass case using it for leverage. And you never clean them off because it's our filthy fucking secret."

"Oh," I cry as his pace increases.

His tongue runs up my ear. "Right there for everyone to see."

I fight the chill in his loft on my arms, yet the warmth in my chest.

"I'd fuck you— ow, ow, fuck shit," Negan grimaces, looking down on the floor as his thrusts stop.

"Sergeant, go!" He's using Negan's leg as a scratching post.

"I'm bleeding! The fucking thing … fuck it." Negan slams his hips against me.

I brace the back of the counter with a moan, accepting him entirely. Once again, I find myself on the brink of pure elation only to be denied. Though it's brief as I'm put on the couch and he gets to his knees. The arm is braced by my hand to make each time he delves into me deeper. Longer.

"Fuck!" Negan pulls out and slaps the tip of himself against me several times. "Shit. Thought I was going to shoot my load in that tight cunt."

"Isn't that the point?"

"Fuck no it's not. Not without a rubber at least. Tongue my balls so I can settle the fuck down."

"I'm not doing that! You can tongue me, and then I'll make you thank me for it."

"Goddamn, woman, I am in love."

"Get to licking!" My nails go right into the leather couch as I tilt my head back with a deafening cry. He is a God with that tongue that makes me come undone better than my vibrator ever has. I want my money back.

Negan holds me by the throat as he claims what's his with a deep kiss.

I can taste myself on me. It's weird, but it turns him on so much as I feel his cock stiffen even harder. I lap at his chin with a moan.

"Bed, now." He slaps me on the rear as I get up.

My stomach knots in anticipation when I see him get protection from his drawer.

He's quick about it before his lips are back against mine again.

Personally, the kissing thing has never been my thing, but I will do anything for this man as long as he stuffs me full. And he does. God, does he ever. My hands run along his well-contoured arms, to shoulders even more impressive.

His head bows as his teeth nip at my nape and cleavage. Then I feel his heavy breaths move up my neck. He runs his thumb over my lips as he gets the most confident grin about him. "Let me hear what no other man has." He delves even faster into me. "Feel your wet heat tighten around my cock."

How did he… ugh, why question it. My lips part as my muscles tighten. "Oh!" He's even harder than he was before and then I feel this throb, followed by his harsh moans.

"Fuck, Jameson!"

I tilt my head back some as I find my own release which only makes him moan louder. In this moment, I've never wanted him more, yet I have him. It's like I can't get enough of this feeling. "Negan," I cry.

Negan keeps the same pace that sent me over the edge until I'm satisfied. "Fucking shit! Christ…" His harsh moans become more spaced until it's some over the top groan followed by more profanity. His face settles on my chest. Then the softest kiss is placed against my nipple.

It's felt in several places.

"Let's get cleaned up, James."

I don't want to move, but I have little choice.

Negan washes my hair for me before his own, then makes sure all the _good_ spots of me are clean before he worries about himself.

"Why'd you do that?"

"Do what?"

"Wash me."

He shrugs, dipping his hand between his legs. "That shit is important. I'm not going to fuck you and roll over. You're not some whore in the backseat of a car at a concert. You're my wife."

That reminds me, I haven't gotten a good look at the ring on me yet. I smile wiggling my fingers. "We're not married yet. I want Elvis to marry us."

"Shut the fuck up." He snaps open his eyes under the suds. "I said that same shit to Lucille and she refused. Wanted some all eyes on me fuckshow instead."

"Vegas it is then," I beam as my eyes watch the water carry away the suds.

"Fuck yes. They got that all you can eat, too."

"I promise I won't ruin it this time."

He sighs and shuts the water off. "I wasn't a good husband the first time. I won't repeat those same mistakes with you. You didn't ruin dinner either time. That was on me. I have no problems admitting my fuck ups where they're due. That's something that's really important in a marriage. Being able to swallow your pride and say sorry." He gets a towel and helps me dry off. It runs over the scar down my spine where the metal rods were put in my back. "Are you in a lot of pain?"

"Always."

"What can I do?"

I move against him, wrapping my arms around him.

"I just dried you off."

"Shut up."

He takes me to bed. Our bed. "No." Negan moves me on top of him. "I don't want you to hurt yourself on the rusted coils." He looks at peace as his eyes fall closed.

Something I don't think I've seen but a handful of times. "When do you want to go to Vegas?"

"Tomorrow," he murmurs half asleep.

"What about my Bachelorette party? I want to see some half-naked men."

"Fuck. You. Didn't you get enough dick just now?"

"Calm down, old man, before you work yourself into a stroke."

"Yeah. I guess since we're getting married I'm going to be doing lots of stroking."

"F. You."

He starts to laugh.

_Yes._

_Yes, what?_

_You still make me laugh. More than just under my breath._

My fingers trail his strong chest. After everything we've been through, it's nice to know I still make him laugh. More than just under his breath.

* * *

**A/N The next chapter will be the last, for real this time, and it's domesticated Negan. I regret nothing! Vegas, Baby!**


	6. Chapter 6

Negan bounces his leg up and down in nervous anticipation during our flight. His eyes widen. "The **fuck** was that?"

"The drink cart."

"Fuck, I hate this shit, James." His large clammy hand swallows mine.

"Order a drink, or go splash some water on your face. Do something that's in your control since the plane isn't one of them."

"Shit. You're right. Bathroom. Now. Let's fuck."

Which we actually get in a lot of trouble for it, but Negan is just charismatic enough to get us out of it. Thankfully.

Once we land, Vegas is even more beautiful than I could imagine and it's only the morning. I can't wait to see the lights at night. "Did you make reservations?"

"Fuck. You. Did I make reservations… why would you even ask that? Of course I did." He scoffs and walks in the Bellagio.

"Welcome, reservation name?"

"I didn't make one."

I roll my eyes annoyed.

He snickers under his breath. "That one," he points at the computer screen.

"The parlor suite is eight fifty-seven a night, check in is at three."

"Yeah. Fine. Four nights."

"Negan, we don't need that," I try to reason. I know he's got a lot of money saved, but that's ridiculous for a hotel room.

"The hell we don't. It has a pool table, and a line pass for the buffet."

"There's also twenty-four hour in-room dining," we're told.

"See," Negan shrugs, "it's paying for itself already."

If Negan would have made reservations, we would have got a private limo from the airport to the hotel, so the man is kind enough to let us use it to go to the Graceland Wedding Chapel.

Negan wore the white button up I liked, along with his leather jacket.

I found a pink dress in one of the gift shops. The best part is it was only thirty-four dollars.

And then there was Elvis. Sunglasses and all, which Negan and I were both given a pair. Elvis actually walked me down the short aisle.

It's perfect. Especially when my new last name is said. A **real** last name.

Negan kisses me with such force and complete disregard for anyone in the room. Then he hurries to snatch our marriage license and go towards the front door.

"I want a mug with our picture on it," I tell Negan.

"And I wanna fuck. Let's. Go."

I tug at his hand when he tries to leave. "Please."

"Christ. How much for a goddamn mug?" Negan is even more annoyed when he's told the price.

Actually, I'm rather annoyed too. My _wedding dress_ cost less.

Negan pulls me on top of his lap once we're in the limo. "Bellagio," he snaps at the driver, putting up the privacy guard. He unbuckles his belt as my dress is pushed up some. Negan lets out a moan as he thrusts upward in me. "That pussy is so tight, fuck, James."

I love being married already…

* * *

Negan looks over the mountain of peeled shrimp and crab legs as his eyes start to well up. "This is the best day of my life." He leans over and kisses my temple before he starts to load up his tray, completely disregarding the plate.

There's always this part of me that is a little jealous of Lucille, but when he says stuff like this, that jealousy subsides. Especially because, while this might be his second go, this is my first. But Negan never makes me feel second.

"Are you ok? Is it your back?"

"I just got lost in thought is all," I smile.

I find the buffet to be extremely overwhelming. I'm not picky, but I'd prefer not to eat a bunch of flavors so I stick with what I know.

"You have all these options for food and you get macaroni and cheese?"

"Well, yeah. That's what I like. All you got are crab legs."

"That's because this shit is expensive as fuck anywhere else. And it's all you can eat."

"And this is all you can eat macaroni," I smile.

He shakes his head.

* * *

I hop up on the pool table after he takes his last shot. "What would you like to do today?"

His eyebrows wiggle as he takes advantage of me like this.

I slump back on the felt, catching my breath.

"Cross that off my bucket list." He bends over and picks up his discarded jacket. Negan digs a pamphlet from his pocket. "Wait, no that's the escort service one. Give that one back," he snickers, stuffing it inside his jacket. "Here, this one." It's an ad for the Hershey's store here.

"Alright, let me clean up and we'll go."

* * *

"Oh my fuck…" Negan stares down at the world's largest bar of chocolate before scooping the five pound majesty up. Even in his giant arms, it's still a decent size. That's not all to go in his arms. He finds a twenty-five dollar Hershey Kiss and a pound of Reese's peanut butter cups. "James! Look at this strawberry syrup."

Ugh, this is so gross, but I'm happy if he is.

"I feel like all we've done is what I wanna do," Negan says with a mouth stuffed full of chocolate once we leave.

"That's not true. I got a mug," I smile. "Besides, no need to rush. We have a few days."

"I know you probably don't want to hear this, and I don't mean to compare you to her, but Lucille never appreciated fuck all. I got a job, she wanted more money. I bought her a house, she wanted all these things that kept her out of the house I bought her. Boat. RV. You were grateful for three dollar flats you didn't even ask for. You loved me despite the fear of it never being returned. Christ, James, you deserve the most, but you get the least."

"I don't see it like that."

"Of course you wouldn't. You're just that kind of person." His fingers tangle with mine as he leads us down the strip. "I love you."

I smile proudly hearing his words. Words that only belong to me. We usually don't return each other's adoration because it's something neither of us want to be forced. I know he loves me, and it's the same for him.

"Do you want to go gambling?"

I scoff and shake my head no once we arrive at the casino. "Do you think Vegas makes its money because it's letting everyone win?"

"You can't win if you don't play."

This winning he's talking about? Negan drops three hundred dollars to lose all of it but one dollar.

"Don't even say I fucking told you so, James."

"I'm not saying anything," I smirk.

"Bullshit. Your smug look says it all."

"I tried to warn you."

"I'm just saying, people fucking win."

"I'm sure they do. Right after you spend all your hard earned money, some schmuck strolls up with a quarter, pulls the lever and wins millions of dollars that were meant for you."

"First off, there are hardly levers anymore. It's mostly buttons. Second? Fuck. You."

"Well, come on then," I smile.

* * *

Our last night of dinner I only thought I had seen everything. Negan eats for over two hours. I'm pretty sure the hotel questioned all you can eat after Negan ate his weight in crab legs. In fact, Negan gained fifteen pounds during our week in Vegas.

As much as I loved Vegas, I'm happy to be home. Happy to be in this dank, mildewed loft as I plop down on the leather couch.

Negan sets down my tea in our wedding mug. "I can't believe how much money I spent on this goddamn thing."

"Well, I like it. Get me the newspaper." I need to start looking for jobs.

"Anything else? Want me to alter the course of Earth?"

"God, you're so dramatic sometimes." Hmm, the bakery is hiring again. I circle it then continue searching.

He walks over and clicks on the TV before he takes a seat beside me. His zombie show is on. "This show keeps getting worse and worse. Why the fuck doesn't anyone just shoot this motherfucker with the baseball bat?"

"Probably the same reason why they led you on for an entire season thinking that little girl was alive all for her to come out of the barn as a walker."

"I thought you hated this show?"

"I do."

"It really has gone to shit this last season. I mean the guy has, what, six wives? Like he fucking knows what to do with all that pussy. Give me a goddamn break. Stupid." Negan actually gets up and clicks off the TV.

"Are you ok? You seem a lot more grumpy than usual."

He folds his arms with a pout. "Maybe I am."

"Talk to me."

After several minutes of pacing, he has a seat on the coffee table in front of me. "I want to talk to you about something serious and it's probably going to piss you off because I know how you are."

"I knew things were going too well."

"Fuck. You."

"Speak."

"I don't want you to get a job."

"Negan, you know how I feel about a man taking care of me..."

"Look, I know. And that's why I said it's going to piss you off. Hear me the fuck out though. I just once want to come home to a woman that is waiting on me. Who's happy to see me. Who wants to hear about my day. Who is excited about having me eat the dinner she cooked and I know it fucking sounds misogynistic, but I don't mean it that way."

"You want me naked, too?"

"Always."

I fold my arms as my brow arches upward. I guess it's kind of sweet.

"Does that make me a bad person? Wanting you waiting on me?"

Part of me feels bad for him. To know he's never had a woman that's genuinely excited to hear about his day. Or doesn't mind making his lunch for him because he works so hard. "Alright, grouch."

He scoops up my hands. "And I promise I will always go down on you. Every night for your sacrifice."

I turn my wrist so the top of my hand is facing up as I examine my wrist. "Would you look at the time?" My knees part with a smirk.

* * *

I stop off at the coffee shop before I visit Negan at work. "Thought you might want a break?" The pumpkin pie slice is set on his desk. There was a time when people would ask about us and Negan would say we weren't together. Now? He doesn't even give people the chance to ask about us. He always introduces me as his wife. It means the most to me at his job because he told me that he had wandering eyes when he was with Lucille.

My pictures are on his desk. I snicker at the one of Sergeant Sprinkles. His response when I asked about it?

_Yeah, so maybe that fucking toe has grown on me._

"Wanna fuck on my desk?"

"No," I laugh.

"I have some school function fuckery tonight so I'll be late."

"You can't come up with a better excuse than that?"

"Shut up." He opens the lid to the pie and perks up.

"Your birthday is—"

"Don't even start that shit."

"48 isn't—"

"I said fuck you."

"Guess I'll just sell these reserved platinum tickets I bought to the Chesapeake Crab & Beer Festival."

"The fuck you will." He reaches over the desk and snatches them from me. "Goddamn, this is fucking cool. I have always wanted to go. Thanks, James."

"You're still getting the end of the month off, right?"

He nods.

Negan and I bought a loft in DC that we're moving into then. One that wasn't empty, or wasn't fallen to hell. Well, that and we had no choice because the Chinese restaurant kept calling the cops every time Negan was inside me.

"Donna is pregnant…" Donna is the principal.

"Again? Isn't that fifteen kids now?"

"Fourteen."

We also both agreed that neither of us wanted children so I had my tubes tied. Some days, like today, I see regret in his eyes because he fears what will happen when he goes before me. "It's reversible, Negan."

"The complications you had… I didn't like seeing you laid up like that. It really fucked me up."

"We could always adopt."

He sighs. "I don't want to talk about this."

"I better get back. I have a long day of waiting around naked for you."

"I'm going to fuck you so hard they'll be five squad cars outside when you're done screaming my name."

That new loft can't come soon enough…

* * *

It takes six months until I'm happy with the decoration choices for our loft, which is basically the styles of a minimalist.

"How come there's only a bed in the bedroom?"

"Because I believe that everything else is distracting."

"What about your vibrator? Is that a distraction?"

"That reminds me, I need new batteries."

Negan grunts and puts me over his shoulder, then strips my pants. He gives me a sharp smack on the rear before his middle finger is eased inside of me.

"Oh," I cry against his back, parting my legs more.

"Alright, continue the tour..."

He actually makes me show him around while he fingers me over his shoulder! And if I'm not attentive, he slaps my behind.

"What kinda soap is this in the bathroom?"

"You know you don't give a fuck about the goddamn soap," I moan.

"Oh my god," he chuckles, "that filthy fucking mouth." I'm corrected again as it follows a yelp. "Actually." He plants both feet in front of the mirror. "I like this view." One hand runs up the back of my leg. He slips his finger out and starts teasing my clit. "You're missing out."

Even if I could see what he is, my eyes are so far in the back of my head I wouldn't be able to as I find my release. I'm useless after.

Negan sets me down, then runs his finger across my lips before it goes in my mouth. "Such a good girl."

I take him by the wrist and lick his fingers clean. "Such a demanding prick."

"And you love every minute I'm forcing my cock down your ungrateful throat." He unzips his pants and with a shift of his hips he pulls himself from his fly. "I'm not drunk enough to lick me from your chin, so don't fucking be sloppy this time."

He's so full of crap. He wasn't drunk, and he loved licking himself from me because I was so turned on I gave him anything he wanted. Which meant anal.

"Just like that," he groans, forcing my head faster. "Fuck!"

I actually enjoy pleasuring him this way because he's easy to frustrate when I tease him until it becomes too much and I send him over the edge.

Negan takes me by the arm and lifts me up to bend me over the counter.

My toes curl as he thrusts inside me.

"Fuck," he sneers, his hips stiffening.

Did he really just use me as some kind of… Unbelievable!

"What," he laughs when he gets a look at my expression in the mirror.

"I just can't even with you sometimes," I dismiss him, flipping on the shower.

"Jameson honey, don't be mad at me." He snakes his arms around me. "I thought it'd be real romantical to shoot my load in you."

"You are the worst liar." I can't even keep up the mad charade and end up laughing. Besides, I know that he'll take care of me the way he always does.

He kisses under my ear. "You know I'm going to scrub you clean."

"Only the good parts."

"All your parts, and **especially** the good parts."

"You _are_ being romantical."

He clears his throat and starts to undress. "Look, in all seriousness, I really like what you've done with the place."

"I appreciate how hard you work so I'm able to."

He gives me a condescending laugh. "What did those words taste like?"

"I've come to terms with it, but I do want to go back to work."

"Come on," he groans. "Why? I make plenty of money for the both of us."

"Oh gosh, is this our first real fight?"

Negan steps into the shower. "I ain't fighting with you. I **won't** fight with you. If you want to go back to work, James, I want you to be happy."

I smile up at him. "I love you."

"Even after I," he thrusts his hips forward.

"We're even," I shrug, getting in the shower with him.

"How do you figure that?"

"Because you're going to clean me. With your tongue."

"James," he pouts.

"Get to licking."

* * *

Our life had these moments that made me appreciate Negan even more. It was the remedial tasks that did it.

_Negan, will you take out the trash?_

_Negan, can you change the light bulb in the kitchen?_

_Negan, mustard or mayonnaise?_

For the record, it's **always** mustard.

And the moments right after we'd come undone we're pretty good, too. Which are often despite his comment that he'd be stroking it since we were married. My fingers run up the scar on his ribs. "This is new."

"That's been there for years. Where are your eyes when I'm fucking you?"

"I mean new because there was a time you didn't have it. Before prison."

"The hell? How do you know that?"

"The morning after we went to the aquarium. I snuck a peek."

"Fucking pervert."

"We already knew I was hard up for you. All those years spent trying to just get it in."

"I am fucking appalled by the shit that comes from your mouth. And I got the scar in prison."

"What happened?"

"Because I stayed out of the assault on Grant. The other inmates took it as disrespect. I think the guy that did it was trying to stab me between the ribs, you know, puncture my lung. Anyway, when they found out who Grant was to me, that's when they left me the hell alone."

"Did you ever fear for your life?"

"Only certain brief moments. Most of them I couldn't even recall if you asked. It was a shit fuck time I'd like to forget."

"Do you regret what you did to him?"

"Fuck no, fuck him. I'd do it a hundred times over again." Negan moves me on top of him. "Let's sell everything and go back to Vegas."

"Already? We've only been in this place a year."

"Think about it."

"Well, I mean, it's all your stuff, you don't have to persuade me."

"We're married. This is both of our stuff, and it should be both of our decision."

My fingers go back to his scar. "What about your job here?"

"I dunno, truthfully I was thinking about retiring next year. You see our savings, James. I think we'd be ok while we get settled."

"You just want that buffet again."

"It's all you can eat."

"You just had all you can."

I get a real laugh from him out of that.

"When you're ready to retire, we'll go."

* * *

I figured that night Negan and I talked about living in Vegas was just that pillow talk stuff you hear about, but when we hand over our keys to the woman who sold our loft, it's a very real thing. I'm trying to be a supportive wife, but this happened within the year like he talked about.

I forgot I packed my stupid card that when I go through the metal detector it explains about the metal rods in my back in my luggage that's already on the plane. Luckily, it's no big deal and the TSA explains that I really don't even need it.

"Do you have change for a five," an older woman at the airport asks me.

"Come on, James. We're going to miss our flight."

I actually have a few dollars on me and trade her the singles after juggling Sergeant Sprinkles' kennel. I found the cash in an old pair of pants of mine from the bakery.

"Thank you," she smiles warmly.

"Jameson," Negan calls.

Oh, no. No cute name, time to move my butt.

My stomach knots as this time I'm the nervous one on the flight. The words come so close to surfacing so many times, but then I see how boyish he is. I can't take this from him.

* * *

For the moment, we've checked into the Paris hotel because they allow pets. I stop listening to the conversation with the woman because I don't want to know how much he pays for our room. Thankfully, it's modest.

"We'll start looking around in the morning. You hungry?"

No, God, no. I just want to go to sleep…

I get up that next morning and go for a walk. I'm just having a really hard time with all this. I feel like I've compromised my values by letting Negan take care of me. And now he's going to piss away his savings. I don't want to fight with him because things with us are so good.

"Shit," a man curses, looking down at an empty cup where change used to occupy. He gets up from the machine to start back for more money.

I still have that five. Well… did. Ugh, what a waste! And now I feel like a hypocrite because—

"Oh my god, that woman won the jackpot!"

I'm glad someone did. Hopefully, Negan doesn't come after me so I have to listen to him say _I told you people actually won it_. Oh, great. I knew it.

Negan drops his leather jacket on the floor. "You have motherfucking got to be fucking motherfucking me." He moves closer to the machine as his eyes roam all the bright lights.

_I'm just saying, people fucking win._

_I'm sure they do. Right after you spend all your hard earned money, some schmuck strolls up with a quarter, pulls the lever and wins millions of dollars that were meant for you._

Yeah… so what I don't realize is I'm that schmuck that strolls up, never gambled, never played that winds up winning the jackpot. **Ten million** **dollars worth**.

"Jameson honey… James, you… holy fuckity!"

"We won?"

"Yes!" He takes me by the cheeks. "I fucking told you people won this shit!"

"Ugh, forget it." I move his hands away. "I don't even want the money anymore."

"You stubborn fuck." He shakes his head at me. Negan is so protective over the machine, he almost hits one of the casino attendants by mistake.

Actually, this is a big deal. Like evening news big deal, which I do not handle the attention well.

Negan gladly steps up in the spotlight and gives a victory speech as if it were his own.

I can only laugh, but my mind also becomes plagued with serious what ifs.

What if I hadn't made that pumpkin pie? What if Grant never asked me out? What if I hadn't been working at that hotel? What if I hadn't walked down here at this exact moment?

Knowing I won this money feels incredible because it's mine. Not that I'd ever hold it over Negan's head. We share everything. But it just feels good to know that I'm contributing, even if it's some weird freakish luck. Oh my god! Wait a minute…

"What are you laughing at?"

"That money I found in a pair of pants from when I worked at the bakery. You were my last customer that day before I stormed out. It was from the tip you left me at the register. I dunno, it's just funny how things work out."

"Yeah, like how we're going to go to filthy fucking fuck town in the elevator later?"

His mouth… That doesn't even have anything to do with what I'm talking about, but it makes me laugh.

"I love you."

I know you do. It makes sense to me now why the first time I said it, he never returned it. It's just not our way. I'm excited to be able to buy Negan a real wedding ring now. Not one I picked up in a pawn store here. Mostly, I'm just excited for us. This new chapter in our life. I can't wait to annoy him. Actually, I'll start now. Seeing my name on that check made it real as I smirk up at him.

"Christ, what?"

"You know, Negan, I was thinking... I _really_ want you at home waiting for me at night."

He rolls his eyes. "Fuck. You."

* * *

**A/N Thank you for reading! Let me know your thoughts! :) -217**


End file.
